index


Message-ID: <34373asstr$1009764602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cyberczar@despammed.com
Subject: {ASSM} (RP) [1/5] Hard Rain (MF, Fdom, nc, mc, scifi)
Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2001 21:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

                                   Hard Rain

        CyberCzar - CyberCzar@HushMail.com mailto:CyberCzar@HushMail.com
                          http://therealm.webhop.org/

Legal Notices

   This document contains frank discussions of a sexually-explicit nature,
   and is intended for mature audiences only.

   The persons depicted in this story are entirely fictional.

   Any similarities are completely coincidental.

   References to actual places, companies, or organizations are used strictly
   for artistic reference to provide realism.

   In other words, none of this is true.

   This document should not be construed to provide any relation between the
   author and such places or organizations.

Copyright

   Copyright (c) 2001 by CyberCzar - CyberCzar@HushMail.com.

   See http://therealm.webhop.org/ for the latest license conditions.

Preface

   Stories

     From: "**********" <**********@hotmail.com>

     To: CyberCzar@HushMail.com

     Date: Thu, 17 May 2001 11:22:00 -0700

     I noticed your author bio on asstr and was very interested by it. You
     mentioned a desire to have people pass on requests. I have talked to
     many different people over the last year about my own desires and a few
     people said they were very interested in my ideas, some even said they
     might develop my ideas into a story, but these people have all
     disappeared, never to be heard from again. I know my fantasies are a tad
     - weird, but I don't think they are anything totally bizarre or really
     honestly freaky. So if your interested in what I'm about to say, keep
     reading, if not, well thanks and PLEASE keep writing :)

     Okay, well the thing is, I like women to be dominate, really powerful.

     Total power over me. It thrills me to be totally dominated, with no
     control, no hope, just living a life of servitude and slavery to a
     woman, women, either one powerful women or a whole WORLD filled with
     dominate women. But what do these women want? I mean if they are going
     to all that trouble to dominate me, taking all that effort and time to
     even acknowledge my existence...there must be something I can provide
     them.

     So in my fantasies, that is cum. My semen.

     That is the only thing they care about. I'm not a man to them, I'm just
     a cock. They milk me, they have me, I'm their play thing that gives them
     fresh cum to drink and play with. They have no concern for me as a
     person, they just love that cum. When I imagine a whole world of
     dominate women, I have strict quotas, I have to produce cum for their
     business or their schemes, and I'm treated like you'd treat any business
     resource. when I'm dealing with the idea of one powerful woman, it's
     just her thing. Maybe she likes to bath in cum, or loves the taste.
     Whatever it is, I'm under her power and I need to make cum for her.

     That's the basic idea. I don't know how that sounds to you or anything,
     probably nuts, but I'm curious. What do you think? If you're still
     reading, thanks again, and have a great day! :)

Prologue

   A lot of men can't get enough sex. The burning, yearning, desire in their
   loins to procreate. The sexual drive is probably the most basic of urges
   throughout the known Universe. When some men can't seem to get enough sex,
   they resort to other outlets and means to obtain that longing climax.

   But too much of a good thing can also have disastrous results. What
   happens when a society builds up their entire civilization around sex, or
   the byproducts thereof? Will it survive?

                                   Chapter 1
                                      SoS

     ``Captain's Log, StarDate .... who the fuck knows. I just left Orpheus
     Prime where I dropped off a load of Ketallian Brandy. The bartender at
     the depot mentioned that Keltic Four is looking for some cargo ships to
     haul some weapons from there to the Inubrian Outpost.

     Risky job, I know, because of the inherent risks of pirates and
     marauders, but the pay is good.

     Since my landlord said she's going to evict me if I don't have my full
     rent come the end of this month, I really don't have a choice. Maxwell,
     out.''

   John Maxwell was an average Joe trying to make living. Torn over the loss
   of his last girlfriend, when he found out she was really a Heletic Daemon
   camouflaged to appear humanoid (hey, she almost bit off his head during an
   argument ... literally) he was love-lost and heart-broken.

   The job at the Inubrian Outpost seemed like a dream come true. By hauling
   one load for these guys, he'd make enough money in two weeks than he'd
   make in an entire trimester.

   John decided to take it easy for the ride across the sector, he wouldn't
   be expected for another 48 hours, and he took this time to run diagnostics
   and make minor repairs on his ship's defense systems. The threat of
   pirates and marauders was all too real, as he'd only narrowly escaped a
   brush with both only once before each time.

   While listening to some MP32s, piped through his ship's comm system, his
   melodic journey soon became interrupted when the all-too-familiar wail of
   a distress call beamed out of the speakers.

   Scurrying back to his cockpit, he flipped the switches which piped the
   call through the speakers.

   ``Hello? Is anybody out there?'' a female voice could be heard through his
   ship's speakers. ``This is Captain Fern Viger of the Ule Marou, I'm in
   need of help and assistance. Can anybody hear me?''

   Intrigued as to what could be the matter, Johm answered the distress call
   using the sub-space antenna to broadcast his reply across the vastness of
   space. ``This is John Maxwell of the ... well ... This is John, how can I
   help you?''

   Scratchy and with a lot of static, the woman sounded relieved as she began
   her reply. ``John ... Maxwell ... My name is Fern Viger. My ship is
   immobile, and I'm adrift. Can you give me a tow?''

   ``What class is your ship?'' he replied. If her ship was too large, his
   tractor beam wouldn't be able to tow it and he'd have to radio AAAAA.

   ``Class 4 cruiser,'' she replied.

   He couldn't help but chuckle when he heard this. ``Ma'am, that's not a
   ship, that's an escape pod,'' he said, muting the mic so he could laugh
   some more. ``Transmit your coordinates and I'll see what I can do.''

   Seconds later, he received the coordinates on his screen and noticed she
   was only three parsecs away from his current position. ``I can be there in
   a half-hour, sit tight.''

   Altering course, he headed to her coordinates. He wasn't worried about
   helping her, since he had plenty of time to kill before having to be at
   his destination. In fact, he purposely chose to drive there at impulse
   speeds only so it would take him longer.

   He slowly made it into the sector where she had given him and quickly
   scanned for ships and vessels. Immediately, his ship detected her vessel,
   1/10th of a light-year from where she had originally given him,

   ``You're drifting awfully fast,'' he radioed to her as he headed to her
   next destination. ``I should catch up to you in about five minutes.''

   ``Thank you, John. Hurry! I'm scared.''

   Speeding to her destination, he engaged his ship's grappling beam which
   stabilized her ship and brought it under his hull. Once her ship was
   docked, and secured, he opened up the airlock and climbed down the rungs
   into her vessel.

   As he entered her vessel, he noticed her black hair flowing long past her
   shoulders as her back was facing him. ``Hello?'' he said as he reached the
   floor.

   Smoothly, she turned around in her cabin to face him.

   She was a thing of beauty he thought to himself. Long, flowing, black
   hair; deep brown eyes, smooth olive skin, and a well endowed chest which
   didn't quite fit her flight suit.

   ``Terran-system?'' he asked her.

   ``Excuse me?''

   ``Are you from the Terran system? Earth?''

   ``No, I'm afraid not. Why do you ask?''

   ``Your appearance. You resemble a race of people from Earth. Northeastern
   quadrant... Asia, I think it's called.''

   ``I'm from Jalapillia.''

   John just stood there for a moment, his eyes fixated on her bosom.

   ``I'm sorry,'' he said, becoming self-conscious of his gazing. ``I'm
   John.''

   ``Fern Viger.''

   ``Well, let's see if we can't get you underway, shall we?'' he said,
   turning about to head to her engine compartment.

   Inside the rear of her ship lay the machinery which propelled Fern's ship
   across the Galaxy. With a Class 4 Cruiser, John knew her main propulsion
   would be impulse drives, since she was only capable of Warp 1.

   Looking around, it was quite obvious to him what her problem was; one of
   the distributor wires leading to the impulse spark plugs was removed so
   her impulse engine couldn't fire normally. Repairing the problem, he left
   the engine compartment, and walked back up to the front to find the
   myserious woman sitting at the table in the back portion of her cab.

   ``Well, I found your problem.'' he said gleefully. ``Try to start her
   up.''

   Fern walked to the pilot area and turned the key. After several violent
   shakes, her engines emitted a very smooth, and low hum.

   She jumped up, ran over to him, and gave him a big hug. ``Thank you very
   much!'' she said. ``How can I repay you?''

   ``Ma'am, it was nothing.''

   ``I think I have a way,'' she said to him, running her fingers down his
   shirt.

   ``What are you doing?'' he asked, as she was unbuttoning his shirt.

   John offered little resistance as the woman pushed him down onto the
   couch. As she reached her hand into his pants, she was pleasantly
   surprised to find out John was a Stolac.

   ``Wonderful! Two for the price of one,'' she said. Stolacs are a race of
   humanoids with two genital appendages, formed in a Y shape from between
   their legs. Fern undid his pants, and took both of his appendages in her
   hands. She could feel a warmth and stiffness come over them as his blood
   slowly flowed deeper within them.

   Like two hands on a yoke, she knelt in front of him and gently massaged
   the head of each one with her thumbs.

   John couldn't help but let out a pleasurable moan, still not fully
   believing this was happening to him. ``Fuck, I need to answer more
   distress calls in the future!'' he said to himself.

   Taking one of his appendages in her mouth, she used her other hand to
   gently stroke his other.

   Down, she went onto him, taking it's full length in her mouth. As she
   lifted her head up, she moved her hand down his other shaft. When her head
   reached the divide of his shafts, she gently stroked the main shaft.

   All this pleasure was proving too much for John to handle; and as his
   three gonads retreated into his pelvis, he let out an eruptive burst
   shooting his hot jism deep into her mouth, and onto her back.

   This, of course, was what Fern was waiting for, and as she tasted the
   warm, milky-blue, substance which continued to pour out of him, she knew
   he would be perfect for what she had in mind.

   ``Mmmm,'' she let out, as she rolled her tongue through the jism in her
   mouth. To her, John's jism tasted like hiloberry wine.

   She got up, and wiped some of the blue jism which was running down her
   cheek, savoring it by licking her fingers and hand. A slow stream of blue
   aftercum was still gently flowing down the undersides of John's genital
   appendages.

   ``I've never given a blowjob to a stolac before,'' she said. ``That was
   wonderful!''

   Messy, his species was. In order to help ensure their survival, stolac
   males had evolved to produce an exhorbitant amount of semen each time they
   climaxed. This was the reason, geneticists hypothesized, why they had two
   genital appendages; to handle the volume and pressure of their climactic
   eruptions.

   John waited, in a blissful state, for his climax to end when he saw Fern
   point a weapon towards him.

   ``What's going on?'' he said, as he struggled to get his pants on. But,
   before John realized what was happening, Fern fired her weapon rendering
   him unconscious.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+